


Then all our colors will bleed into one

by maharetr



Series: Imagine Bucky - maharetr post [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Communion | Eucharist, Feelings, Ficlet, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharetr/pseuds/maharetr
Summary: “This was — is — yours.” Steve reaches out and pools something in Bucky’s right palm, and Bucky knows what it is before Steve has taken his hand back.“I should have given it back to your ma, I know. But I couldn’t bear to… after…”It’s Bucky’s rosary, familiar battered wooden beads and all.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Imagine Bucky - maharetr post [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/255532
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Then all our colors will bleed into one

**Author's Note:**

> Title modified from the U2 song 'Found what I'm looking for'
> 
> Originally written for the [Imagine Bucky tumblr](http://imaginebucky.tumblr.com/), based on the prompt: "Imagine Bucky being a devout Catholic. Going to mass whenever he was able to.." Posted 15 March 2015 [here](https://imaginebucky.tumblr.com/post/113730785963/imagine-bucky-being-a-devout-catholic-going-to).

“Hey,” Steve says, in a quiet way that has Bucky looking up sharply from his book. “This was — is — yours.” Steve reaches out and pools something in Bucky’s right palm, and he knows what it is before Steve has taken his hand back.“I should have given it back to your ma, I know. But I couldn’t bear to… after…”

It’s Bucky’s rosary, familiar battered wooden beads and all.

“Aw, hell,” Bucky whispers, if that didn’t already prove how far he was from the fold. Steve chuckles wryly.

“I go, sometimes,” Steve offers. “Not every Sunday, but if you wanted to come…”

“They’re willing to overlook the queer bit for the Captain America bit, then?” Bucky asks. He tries for snark, but it falls well short.

“I shopped around,” Steve admits, and Bucky stares. “They don’t care about either, Buck,” Steve says, gently. “They care about people and community and faith. I’m just Steve to them.”

Bucky’s chest aches. He strokes his thumb across the beads.

“Maybe,” he says.

~*~

Steve’s going next Sunday, in a way that nearly sounds like casual coincidence but probably meant that Steve had fought tooth and nail to have his weekend free of Avengers business, and Bucky can’t not go after that. 

It’s a varied congregation: both elderly people and parents with toddlers wave to Steve the moment the two of them walk in. Steve nods and smiles in greeting but joins Bucky at the back of the church, near the doors.

Steve had briefed him, a lot, — “It’s about active participation, now. Everything’s in English.” — but it’s still startling to watch a member of the congregation stand and perform the Old Testament reading.

The homily is about unconditional, fundamental love that goes deeper than petty disagreements, that welcomes all. The priest jokes gently, and laughter ripples across the congregation. Bucky finds himself starting to relax.

When the Communion usher approaches their pew, Steve asks with a silent press of his hand, and Bucky shakes his head. It’s strange, sure — the rail is gone, for a start — but mostly he fears getting smote by lightning at the altar. “You go, it’s fine,” he says instead, and watches Steve go up and receive Communion standing.

Steve cajoles him into the light refreshments afterwards. He shields Bucky from the inquiring, interested smiles of the parishioners, and lets the priest right in, damn him.

“I’m Father Andrew,” the priest says, offering his hand. “And you are…?”

‘Bucky’ is cocky surety and bravado, none of which he feels right now. “James,” he offers instead. Father Andrew’s handshake is warm and firm.

“Been a while, James?”

“About seventy years, give or take.” Okay, so maybe there’s a little Bucky there. Father Andrew chuckles. “Must be a heck of a shock. If you’ve any questions, please do come pester me.”

The ache is back in Bucky’s chest. It’s fear and shame and desperate want, some of which must make it to his face because Father Andrew’s expression gentles.

“We are all beloved of God,” he says. “We are all capable of forgiveness, and of being forgiven.”

Bucky nods, mutely, but doesn’t trust himself to speak.

~*~

Next Sunday, they get ready together in silent consensus. The parishioners smile at him like he’s already a regular, but he still sits near the back, hesitant.

When Steve stands, he looks back at Bucky questioningly. “You go first,” Bucky says, and follows him up. Father Andrew is at the altar, offering the Communion. Steve murmurs Amen, and then it’s Bucky’s turn.

“The Body of Christ,” Father Andrew says softly, and places the Holy Communion unhesitatingly in Bucky’s cupped hands, metal and flesh.

“Amen,” Bucky whispers, his voice catching, and he’s abruptly grateful he doesn’t have to try for a graceful rise. He steps to the side and crosses himself, the Host cupped in his left hand. He hesitates, but there’s all the people behind him to consider, so he takes a breath and places the Host on his tongue. He holds it there all the way back to the pew, and sits, but even after he swallows he’s not sure he can speak: his eyes are damp and his nose clogged. Steve wordlessly takes Bucky’s hand and holds tight, Bucky clinging back until he can regain some semblance of composure. When the rest of the congregation stands with a rustling of hymn books, he stands with them and raises his voice, waveringly, to sing.


End file.
